Pasta Imperfect Read Online Free

moment?”
    “Prepublished,” she corrected. “Unpublished gives the wrong impression.”
    Right. I guess it would give the impression that…you’re not published.
    “But I’m this close” — she flashed a quarter-inch space between her thumb and forefinger — “to getting published.”
    “Have you had any nibbles?” Jackie asked with girlish excitement.
    “Not exactly.” Keely blew a bubble the size of her head, then had to use her fingers to shove it all back into her mouth. “I need to complete the manuscript first, but finishing up should be a piece of cake.”
    “Are you close to the end?” I asked.
    “Real close. Only thirteen chapters to go.”
    Thirteen
to go
? I couldn’t imagine the fortitude it took to sit down every day and grind out page after page of fiction. I regarded her with even greater respect than before. “How many chapters have you written so far?”
    “One. But like I told you, it’s award-winning.” She blew another bubble. I gritted my teeth. If she did that one more time, I might be forced to grab it out of her mouth and stick it in her ear. “What I really need is an agent,” Keely confessed. “That’s part of the reason I’m on this trip. Gillian and Marla’s agent is here, so I need to impress her big-time. I’m hoping if she reads my award-winning chapter, she’ll like it well enough to represent me. Her name’s Sylvia Root. Ever heard of her? They call her ‘the barracuda.’ High-powered. Ruthless.
Cojones
the size of Jupiter. She’s every author’s dream. And by the way —” She reached into her pocketbook, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. “I run an online romance writers’ critique service, so if you ever need help with your novel, e-mail me. I offer special rates to people I’ve met.”
    I skimmed her card.
Romance Solutions. Become a published author. Manuscript critiques offered by award-winning writer, KEELY MACK. Reasonable fees.
    “Whoops,” said Keely, “there’s my roommate. Gotta run. She wants to explore the grotto where all the popes are buried. She has this obsession with dead people. She wants to break into the market with the first zombie romance. Isn’t that a kick? She’ll probably start a hot new trend.”
    Good reason to stick to nonfiction.
    The queue to reach St. Peter moved quickly. I kissed his little bare toe, then pondered what other part of the statue I’d be kissing if the early Romans had worn wingtips instead of sandals. “If kissing the Blarney stone imparts the gift of gab,” I commented when Jackie and I were through the line, “what gift do you suppose kissing St. Peter’s toe imparts?”
    “I don’t know, but if you start speaking in tongues, I’m outta here.”
    After oohing and aahing over the magnificence of Michelangelo’s dome and Bernini’s sunburst, we snapped some photos of the gilded lanterns surrounding St. Peter’s tomb and headed back toward the entrance. “Hi, Jackie,” gushed two blonde women wearing Landmark name tags.
    A minute later a spit-polished man with a trim beard nodded at Jackie. “Ms. Thum.”
    I slanted a curious look at Jackie. “How do all these people know you?”
    “It’s called networking, Emily. Isn’t that what a good travel club escort is supposed to do? I attended the seminar last night, introduced myself to all the guests, and the dividend is —” She shot me a toothy smile. “They remember me.”
    “Of
course
they remember you! You were wearing a leather bustier!”
    “If you lower your voice, I’ll let you borrow it sometime.” She sidled closer to me and spoke in a whisper. “That man who just acknowledged me? He’s apparently a
real
biggie in the industry. Gabriel Fox. He’s a senior editor at Hightower and is supposed to be editing both Marla and Gillian. Boy, I wouldn’t want that job. Can you imagine the egos? Anyway, they call him ‘the book doctor.’ If there’s anything wrong with a book, he’s the guy who’s supposed